The Masks We Wear
by BeachCat
Summary: Detective Kogoro Mouri, along with Ran and Conan, has been called to the small city of Rookwood to assist in the capture of its most infamous criminal, Spade; but what they believed to be an easy case will become a sick game of hide and seek. R&R Please!
1. Prologue

BeachCat: Hey there! I hoped you liked my most recent fanfic "Waiting on Her Angel." I had a lot of fun writing that.

Spade: Would you just get _on _with it!?

BC: (To Spade) Don't get your stitches in a twist! I'm getting to it. (To the reader) Yeah, so I'm working on a crossover between Detective Conan/Case Closed and one of my original stories. But before I get to the Prologue, I probably should introduce you to the characters from my story – "The Ace of Spades".

Of course you've sort of met my favorite little psychopathic, sadistic, serial killer character

Spade –

Spade glares at me from behind his stitched mask.: You call me your "favorite little" anything again and I will relieve the world of your _damned_ existence and hide the pieces of your body in so many places that it would take a whole _hell _of a lot more than the king's horses and the king's men to even find you.

BC: T3T Fine… grumpy…

Spade is one of the main characters in my story and obviously the bad guy. He plagues the small city of Rookwood, killing off people from petty criminals to high-ranking officials with skeletons in their closets.

Okay, I know you probably know this song and dance – Bad-guy-who-kills-bad guys. But Spade isn't doing it for justice in _any_ sense of the word; he just has a thing for screams of horror, the pleas for mercy from criminals, and the look they get in their eyes just before they die. In other words, Spade is one sick, twisted puppy.

Of course, what's a story without a hero, right? Ace Farthing,the best police detective Rookwood could ask for, is that hero.

:Edit: ... Due to my suspicion that this long character description is scaring off potential readers, I am moving the rest to end of the Prologue.

Spade: Aren't you forgetting something?

BC: Oh yeah, disclaimer time. I don't own Detective Conan/Case Closed or any of its characters, but – drum roll please! (Spade does nothing) – I do have my Spade! Yay!

* * *

Prologue: This has to be a Nightmare

The nights in Rookwood were oddly dark despite the number of large buildings, 24-hour stores, and the ever-flickering streetlights. That was the first thing he always noticed when he came here. The second was the ever-present cold, damp air. It caused the sides of buildings to drip on the roads and sidewalks, forming scattered puddles in every which way. Mushrooms and other varieties of slimy plant life clung to the cracked bases of every building. The whole city smelt of mold or one its other damp cousins. He didn't like it. He never liked being out and about in this city, but that was especially so at night. The place just didn't sit right with him.

He climbed out of his parked rental car and stepped onto the pavement. The man shuffled around to the sidewalk, grumbling something along the lines of "damn parking meters" as he fished for loose change in his oversized business overcoat pocket. Finding none, he cursed and gave the parking meter a good kick to vent some frustration. With a grinding click the parking meter's timer slipped and stuck on the five-minute mark and there it stayed.

"And the Ex said I would be stuck with bad karma," he said, smiling somewhat smugly, and gave the meter another kick for good measure.

Turning, he spotted a bar down the block from the motel he had been staying in the last two days. It was small and relatively unnoticeable during the day; he must have walked past it a dozen times. He would have missed it again if it weren't for the slow pulsating of the neon green 'open' sign in the window. The prospect of having a couple of shots and ridding himself of this eerie, overbearing weight of the city drew him in like a moth to a flame.

After grabbing his wallet from the passenger seat, he locked his car and made his way over to said bar, stopping when he spotted the name carved above the door – "A Regular Ol' Speakeasy." He shook his head at the name and reached for the door handle, but before he had even touched it, the door swung open. Almost immediately, something small bumped against his knee.

"Uwp!" Thump.

The man looked down in mild surprise. A boy about six or seven sat in the still-open doorway, rubbing his sore, knee-bumped head. He looked the boy over curiously. The kid was Asian, which was rather odd. There weren't many Asian families that lived in Rookwood, and, with the added high crime rate to the dreary scenery, the city had nonexistent tourism. But more importantly –

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking, boy?" The man asked, smiling at his joke.

The kid mumbled something darkly under his breath in some foreign language. The man's internal laughter ceased.

"What was that?"

"Eto..." The kid flashed an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his head, "Sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you." With that said, the kid half-jogged his way toward the motel down the street.

"Small world." The man mumbled, shaking his head. He turned and walked into the bar … and immediately wished he hadn't.

There weren't very many patrons, though it was Saturday night; however, it wasn't the number of patrons that worried him. They were all cops. Small groups of off duty cops of all kinds were scattered here and there, chatting of the day's goings on, leaning back in their seats, and drinking cheap, bottled beer. A couple of them who looked like detectives sat at the near-empty bar. Their bent forms and whispered conversation made the man uneasy, but since the bar was more private than the other tables he reluctantly sat a few seats down from the two detectives.

Shifting nervously in the presence of so many law enforcers, he hadn't noticed the bartender standing in front of him.

"Hello? Do you want a drink?" the bartender said for the third time.

"Oh, yeah... sorry. Whiskey." The man said, turning to the bartender. "Are there always, uh," he gestured towards the rest in the bar.

"Yeah, they're all regulars. Normally there's not so many," the bartender shook his head in honest disbelief. "Guess it's just a slow night."

The man grunted in mild agreement. There hadn't been as much crime lately. He had been to Rookwood many times in the past on … business-related trips, and each time he had witnessed drug deals, money laundering, and various other crimes being committed out in the open. It was a city filled with scum and those in the higher ups who were _supposed_ to be the good guys didn't do much to help out the cops who were trying to get things under some control. That's how it had been the last time he'd been to good ol' Rookwood. Now, he could walk the streets without worrying about bumping into some sort of addict or getting mugged on the way from his motel room to the lobby. He didn't know what had happened, but he had heard rumors that somebody was killing off random criminals and general ne'er-do-wells. Of course, he didn't have anything to really _worry_ about… he was just an informer in the city for business… a very well paid informer… he wasn't actually _involved _in any _–_

"Your Whiskey," the bartender said, setting down the shot glass.

"Huh!?" he saw the glass, "Oh, thanks," the man immediately downed it and set it down with a soft thump. He repeated this a couple more times, hoping he would start to feel his nerves loosen up. But they didn't and he could already guess the primary cause.

Damn those two were making him nervous. Sitting there whispering who knows what… What were they saying? The man _was_ sitting only a few seats away but he couldn't catch a word of their conversation. He nearly jumped out of his seat when the Asian one – possibly the kid's father – suddenly sat up, as if in shock, then leaned in closer to the other, a pensive frown bent his small mustache. He muttered something. The other nodded; confirming whatever it was that other asked.

"Alright," the mustached man said with a heavy accent, "I am in."

"Arigato, Mouri-san." The other stood, shaking his hand; "I'll get an office ready for you. We can have you briefed tomorrow on all the details." The one called 'Mouri-san' stood and they both quickly strode out of the building.

The man just sat there, having absolutely no idea of what had just taken place.

* * *

After finding that he no longer had the taste for alcohol, he paid the bartender, and ducked out of the "speakeasy" as Normally. As. Possible.

He sighed. Turned out this was a bad week to quit smoking. Working his way through the late night smog, he wondered if he still had some cigarettes in the briefcase in his … car?

Where was his car?

It was no where to be seen.

He jogged to the parking meter, eyes wide and mouth agape. Blithering nonsense, he ran his hand up through his hair in absolute disbelief.

He cursed loudly, giving the parking meter a third, hard kick. He noticed, after jumping up and down in pain, a sticky note stuck on the front of the parking meter. Written on it in scribble scratch was "Meter out of order. Car towed. To reclaim vehicle call Rookwood's towing." followed by the company's number.

"Dammit," he groaned. All he wanted was for his day to just end so he could go to bed; was that too much to ask!?! . He reached into his coat pocket to get his cell phone… that he had left in the car. Of. Course. Maybe his Ex was right…Freaking karma…

He looked around hoping to find a pay phone when he saw that kid he'd bumped into before walk out of the motel.

"Hey kid!" The kid looked up from where he stood. The man walked over to him, asking,

"Do you know if there's a pay phone around here?"

"Yeah, I think there's one down there." The kid pointed down the alleyway between the motel and some other building. A dark, misty, scary, and not to mention a dead-end alleyway.

"Thanks," he said, but his shoulders slumped in disappointment. Could this day get any worse? A low rumbling rolled across the sky. The man's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Where exactly is it in there?" He asked this not because he was scared or anything… he just wanted to save time… _right…_

"Here, I'll show you," the kid sighed and walked into the alley. The man followed while attempting to convince himself that if a six or seven year-old kid could walk into a dark alleyway in a city like this without hesitation than surely he could. He would soon wish he had just gone to bed.

About halfway through the alley the kid stopped.

"What's up? You –"

"Shh!" The kid put a hand up, motioning for the man to come closer, "Listen." The boy whispered; his voice was dead serious.

The man was silent, straining his ears to hear whatever the kid was trying to point out. He waited, but there was nothing. But before he could tell the kid to stop fooling around he did hear it. It sounded almost like weeping… or maybe just whimpering; he couldn't tell. All he knew was that it came from the shadows at the end of the alleyway and that it sent chills racing down his spine.

"He-hello?" The kid at his knee waved up frantically, eyes wide, mouthing 'Be quiet!'

The man fell silent.

And so did the noise.

For what felt like hours the man and the boy stood silently, listening. There was a sudden flash of lightening which illuminated the entire alleyway… including the figure standing about ten feet away from where the man and boy stood. Shadows fell again, and as the rumbling thunder died away, he heard the noise again. It wasn't weeping like the man first thought; no, it was laughter. High and almost desperate sounding laughter.

There was a footstep, and another, and another, coming towards them. The man quickly picked up the boy and tossed him behind a trashcan, hoping that maybe he could escape. As the footsteps grew closer, there was a click, and the whistle of metal through air.

Burning pain exploded through his leg as the bullet hit its mark. The man's knees buckled and he fell to the side.

"You think you've seen suffering?" Another click, another whistle, more pain but now in his other leg. "You think you've seen death?" Click, whistle, arm.

The man tried desperately to crawl away from the figure stepping out of the shadows, silenced gun in hand and a twisted stitched smile on his face.

"You can't unless you've seen through _my_ eyes."

"Who are you!?!" The man cried out as the pain in his heavily bleeding limbs grew worse.

The figure paused, tilting his head slightly to the side. His stitched smile twisted up into a wicked smirk.

"Who am I?" He placed the tip of the silencer barrel gently on the man's forehead, "I'm the carrion bird, and I've come to wish you goodbye."

_This has to be a nightmare…_

Click

* * *

Character Description Continued:

Ace knows all that is needed to know about criminal minds and is the head of the Spade case. He's usually a nice guy, almost shy even, but when it comes to Spade, you could say that he would do anything to catch him and put him behind bars. You can't blame him for hating Spade; Spade _is_ the main suspect for the murder of Ace's father, Arthur T. Farthing.

Alright, let's meet Ace's team, shall we?

Firstly, there's Samantha "Sam" LeCroy, Ace's partner and secret fiancée. She is probably the only sound of reason in the group (and the only female member). She's also the best shot of them all.

Second is "Big Mac" Johnson, a bit of a ruffian and beast of a man, but he's the best bud (on the job or at the bar) Ace could ever want.

Then there's Luke Glass. He does more in-office work than fieldwork. Background research, communication, tracking, etc.

Lastly, there's Marshal "Fitzy" Fitzgerald. He is Ace's senior officer but was off duty for about a year before they pulled him back in for his expertise. But just 'cause he was retired doesn't mean he doesn't have a ton of spunk left in him. This 68-year-old could whoop any punk's butt, anywhere, anytime.

Some other characters!

Mayor Alfred Quincy

Chief of Police Charley Miller

Detective James O'Reilly

Motel Attendants, John Merck and Jillian Hill

Kindly Random Gentlemen, Stan Walsh

Bar owner, Jack Stevens

And other random and most likely expendable characters!

* * *

So what do you think? Should I continue or is it uninteresting? Please review or Spade will kill me in my sleep. :'(


	2. Chapter 1

Yeah… I was very pleased with my prologue. I read it to my brothers and my youngest brother got a bit scared. ^_^; Whenever I read things aloud I get a little theatrical.

Anyway, I don't own Detective Conan/Case Closed or any of its characters and I never will.

* * *

Chapter 1:

The boy called Conan Edogawa froze as the figure turned its attention on him. He desperately tried to make himself invisible in his dimly lit hiding spot but the evilly smiling figure had him in its sights. His doom was inevitable.

_This has to be a nightmare, _he thought as the figure, weapon in hand, reached out towards him. He shut his eyes hoping that someone would save him.

"Sonoko," Ran sighed, "I brought Conan-kun so we could get him a couple of outfits not to have you traumatize him." She stood in the doorway of the changing room; a couple small shirts hung from her arm. Sonoko turned away from Conan, the mini sailor suit still dangling from the hanger in her hand.

_Thank God for you Ran,_ Conan sighed in relief. With his captor distracted, he crawled out from underneath the chair in the corner of the small room and, shooting a triumphant grin toward a rather irked Sonoko, ran to take his place beside his savior.

"Come on, Ran." Sonoko half-whined, "You have to admit that it would be sooo cute." She glanced dangerously at the boy who was now cowering behind Ran's leg.

"Well sure but…" Ran looked down at Conan.

_Oh no… no Ran. Don't let her do this to me! _Conan put on his best 'traumatized child' face, mentally hoping that Sonoko wouldn't push it. His hopes were dashed, however, as Sonoko dragged him from Ran's side, plopped him in front of the mirror, and placed the sailor suit across his chest.

"You know you want to," she said, smiling genuinely at Ran, "There are more little outfits like this…"

"Well…" Ran looked at Conan again. She bit her lower lip trying – and failing – to keep from smiling. Conan sighed in defeat. Sonoko was going to pay for this dearly.

O_O_O_O_O_O

A couple dozen kiddy outfits later, Conan found himself staring back from the mirror in a miniature Sherlock Holmes coat and hat combo. It wasn't too terrible to be dressed like his favorite fictional character; in fact, he might have liked it if it weren't for the dignity destroying giggling coming from Ran and Sonoko.

"Sorry Conan-kun," Ran said between fits of laughter, "it's just –" She burst into laughter again.

Conan blushed furiously, but not because he was a child embarrassed by the girls' laughter. Shinichi, the 'famous' high school detective hidden behind Conan's face, couldn't help but blush happily. Ran looked absolutely amazing. She was wearing the white blouse with bright red flowers embroidered along the hems that "Conan" suggested she wear and a pair of knee length jean shorts. Her long dark hair hung freely and waved about as she laughed. That was the best thing about her: her laugh, her smile. As long as she was smiling, he could stay sane while being trapped in the body of his seven year old self… He knew he could keep looking for the antidote so he could be with her as himself, as Shinichi, again.

Sonoko waved her hand in front of her face attempting to catch her breath and sat down. Ran immediately joined her. While they struggled to get rid of their leftover giggles, Conan slipped out the coat and hat and laid them on the mountainous heap of costumes he had been forced to wear.

"Too fun, ne?" Sonoko chuckled. Ran nodded but shot an apologetic smile to Conan. "It's good to see you can finally get that detective geek off your mind and have fun, Ran."

Ran's smile slipped for a moment, but for only a moment. Sheckly covered it up with her usual fake smile. Conan didn't need any time to see through it.

_Darn it Sonoko…_Shinichi sighed mentally. Putting on his best kid smile, he tugged on Ran's sleeve. "Hey Ran-neechan, what time is it?"

Ran looked at her watch. "Oh no!" She stood and grabbed her bag, "Sonoko, I need to run to the supermarket for our dinner tonight. Ready to go Conan-kun?"

"Hai!" Conan chimed automatically.

=_=_=_=_=_=

"Thank you, come again!" the cashier said as Ran and Conan walked out of the supermarket.

"Now we have everything we need to make your favorite meal." Ran said cheerfully, lifting the two grocery bags of ingredients, "Conan-kun?"

Conan blinked. He hadn't realized he had been staring at Ran. He scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously.

"Sorry, Ran-neechan, I just, uh, thought I saw something on your face."

"Hmm?" She turned to the window, checking her reflection.

"Oh!" Conan waved up to get Ran's attention, "It was nothing. Just my eyes playing tricks."

Ran smiled, shaking her head at his funny childishness. "Come on Conan-kun," she reached out her hand for him to take. He took it immediately, but bowed his head to hide his blush.

_I will never really get used to this…_ Shinichi thought. He was suddenly _very_ aware of the warmth of Ran's hand as she gently held his fingers. His heart dropped like a heavy stone; she was holding his very _small_ fingers. His grip tightened slightly… Why couldn't Haibara make an antidote that would last just a little bit longer? If he had just a little more time… maybe he could have told her…

"Conan-kun?" Ran looked down at the small not-child, concern written all over her face. Conan didn't look up. He slid his hand out of hers and took off his glasses. He busied himself by scrubbing a nonexistent smudge on the bulletproof right lens of his glasses and avoided looking up at Ran. Ran opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, Shinichi put his all-too-effective mask back on and Conan looked up.

"Let's hurry back home, Ran-neechan." Conan said, taking one of the grocery bags, "Ojisan is probably wondering why we aren't back yet."

"You're probably right." Ran rolled her eyes knowingly and laughed. It was slightly sarcastic but it was a genuine laugh. Conan heaved an internal sigh of relief and began jogging towards the Mouri residence.

_Looks like everything is going to be all right…_

Halfway across the world…

"Glass, keep watching the security feed."

"On it!"

"Sam, take position on Chandler's roof and grab a scope; we need a good sniper."

"Ye'sir."

"Fitzy, tell the squad to stay low; they're backup."

"You sure 'bout that?"

"Yes."

"Good," chuckle, "Jus' had to make sure."

"Big Mac."

"Yeah?"

Detective Ace Farthing lowered the radio and looked to the smiling beast of a man next to him. "Cover me."

The dank warehouse, filled with whoknowswhat, loomed ominously out of the late night smog as the two officers crept closer. Ace nodded to his partner; both drew their weapons. They cautiously approached the warehouse door. Big Mac looked around checking for any and all possible threats while Ace picked the padlock on the door. It opened with a light click. Ace tossed the lock and put all his weight against the door. It screeched as rust rubbed against rust until it ground to a stop, fully ajar. Foul smelling dust rushed out into the night only to quickly fall to the ground.

"Good God! What died?" Big Mac whispered hoarsely, covering his mouth and nose to keep from breathing in the rancid substance.

"That's what we're here to find out," Ace mumbled, half to himself.

Both men sidestepped into the warehouse, squinting through the darkness and lifting their guns slightly. Rows of stacked crates, some stacked clear to the rafters, filled the interior and created a maze-like system of paths between the rows. Ace signaled Big Mac to go around to the right while he took the left. He had hardly stepped into the maze of crates when the radio on his belt crackled.

"Ace!" It was Luke Glass, his technological pair of eyes.

Ace lifted the radio, "What?"

"This is bad… oh hell…" Loud tapping and a bang forced Ace to muffle the radio in his shirt.

"What are you seeing? Spit it out." He whispered hoarsely, looking around for movement.

"It's what I'm not seeing. The cameras are all down, just went black."

"Can you get them back?"

"No. I've already run a sweep of the system, no bugs. It has to be the cameras."

"Sam!"

"I heard. I can still see you through the scope, the rest of the place is blocked by those crates."

"Fitzy, I need the squad to surround the building. I don't want him to get away. That's not going to happen again! Tell 'em to go in pairs; we aren't going to have another accident like Matt." He tried to continue, but choked on his grim words.

"Hmm," Fitzgerald nodded on the other side of the radio, "I _know_, Ace; we won't let that happen again. _You_ just be careful in there…"

Ace slipped the radio back onto his belt without another word.

Rushing through the dark, he made his way to the back of the warehouse. The putrid smell of rotting and/or rotted flesh was getting worse with every step. Ace turned the corner; the maze of crates ended and the sight at the end of the warehouse would have made any lesser man vomit.

"Ah–" blowing the foul air from his mouth in a hiss, Ace shook his head and attempted to fight nausea.

There were three bodies; at least that's what they resembled. Time and exposure to the damp air had caused the flesh and fatty tissues to ooze off until the skeletal forms were sitting in a disgusting puddle of their own mixed decomposition.

Ace heard Big Mac as he rounded the right corner but didn't look at him until he took his place beside him. Big Mac grunted something in disgust and holstered his gun. Ace did the same. It was too late. _He_ probably hadn't been here for days. All that was left was to clean up the mess and try again.

Ace scratched the back of his head in exhausted frustration. "Well, that's it then… Let the forensic team in and–"

**BANG!**

Ace's knee buckled as pain seared across his left thigh. He surely would have fallen if Big Mac hadn't jerked him up and behind the nearest crate.

"I heard a gun shot!" the radio shouted in Fitzy's voice, "I'm sending in the backup!"

"No!" Ace grabbed the radio and repeated, "No, not yet. Sam! You still there?"

"Yeah. Are you okay?" her voice quivered between tension and concern.

"Fine. The shot was fired from the northwest end; can you see anyone?"

"Hold on… no, no one's there… There's something lying on one of the rafters but I can't tell what it is from here."

Ace lowered the radio; he needed to know what was up there. He tried to step forward, but pressure on his left leg only increased the pain he was in. In addition to that, Big Mac had a firm hold on his arm; he wasn't going anywhere just yet. They stood in silence. Waiting…

Not ten seconds had gone by when a soft, quivering sound drifted to them. Any other pair of officers probably would have mistaken it for weeping. Ace and Big Mac knew better…

The wicked laughter rose then fell to a dark chuckle.

"Terribly sorry, I don't_ usually_ make officers of the law, such as yourself, my target… But I couldn't resist…you are such a unique target…" the smooth, hollow voice echoed through the air, bouncing off the walls and crates. It was like the voice of someone that was always smirking and had a nasty secret on the tip of his tongue that threatened to reveal itself. "It's too bad that you couldn't make it on time… I hope you aren't _too _disappointed," the voice laughed softly.

"Damn it!" Ace wrenched his arm from Big Mac's grasp and limped heavily out into the open again, "Spade! I know you can hear me!" …Nothing… "Damn it! Come out and face me!" Ace's roared words echoed through the warehouse and fell into desolate silence.

Ace growled in utter frustration and looked at the three corpses, Spade's latest victims, which lay before him. He started; all three were staring at him, though they had no eyes. Their bony jaws were slightly agape as though they were still trying to whisper the story of their tragic end.

"Alright," Big Mac's voice broke into Ace's thoughts, "Nothing left to do here…" He lifted Ace's left arm and hooked it around his wide shoulders, "We should stop that bleeding."

Ace looked at his leg in vague surprise; a wet, dark stain was growing larger on his pant leg and the dusty floor was dotted with his blood. He shook his head, trying to wave the wound off as nothing, but found that it caused the world to tilt oddly.

Big Mac must have noticed his friend was getting a little tipsy because he turned, half-supporting half-dragging Ace, and they began to work there way outside.

~_~_~_~_~_~

It was three hours later when Rookwood's forensic team finally released the three corpses to be sent to the coroner. Ace watched as the crew pushed the gurneys, whose occupants were covered with stark white sheets, into the backs of some unmarked white vans. Some of the cleanup crew began working there way out of warehouse with bag n' tagged evidence and loading it up in various vehicles. One particularly green faced crewmember was lugging a couple of large buckets of something rather slushy. Ace turned as the footsteps of his team approached him. Sam was the first to reach him. She tackle/hugged him then jumped back at his groan. "So-orry," she smiled apologetically.

Marshal Fitzgerald sidled up to Ace, inspecting the now bandaged wound. He shook his head, "You know, if that hit an inch over… you're a lucky son of a gun," Fitzy suddenly became stern, "but that doesn't mean you can get cocky."

Ace nodded grimly.

Luke Glass's face appeared from behind his tiny, portable laptop. "The cameras are up again. Looks like someone tampered with them, timers were all screwed up, motion detectors…" he rambled off, turning his attention back on his computer.

Big Mac sat next to Ace on the back bumper of the ambulance, which caused the entire vehicle to rock up and down. He gave Ace a rough pat on the back conveying all that had been left unsaid. Ace looked up at his team gratefully, but he could not hide his frustrated frown. How many times would Spade get away with murder? How many more victims would there be? There was nothing sure about him. Was he a madman who would killed off any random passerby or a twisted genius with enough presence of mind to commit premeditated murder? Or was he both? He killed and disappeared as if he never existed, mocking Ace and his team in everything he did.

A groan interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and echoed the groan internally. Chief of Police Charley Miller was making his way through the hustle and bustle of the forensic crews towards Ace's team, scolding the green faced crewmember for stopping to catch his breath and others. He didn't seem too happy. A look of annoyance crossed his face when he spotted Ace's leg.

"It's a good thing you had the ambulance stocked with your blood type," he stated, "If it had been anyone else, they'd 'ave been knocked down flat."

"Spade wasn't there," Ace said, choosing to ignore the Chief's blood comment, "the forensic team found a recording device on one of the rafters. No fingerprints."

"Then how'd that happen?" the Chief asked, indicating the bandaged leg, "Didn't shoot yourself didjya?"

"No, but the forensic team hasn't recovered a weapon so I don't know how it happened exactly."

Ace suddenly stood and, despite the looks of worried disapproval, walked up to the Chief.

"I need to talk to you," he glanced at his team, "alone." He began limping towards a bench across the street from the warehouses.

Ace sat down gingerly, avoiding bumping his leg against anything. The Chief stood for a moment, then, rolling his eyes, reluctantly sat.

"What's so important that you had to tell me alone?"

"I think Spade is on the inside," Ace stated simply.

The Chief froze, his eyes widened in horror. The thought alone was terrifying enough but… "Why do you think that?"

"Chief, it can't be coincidence that Spade is always two steps ahead of us."

The Chief nodded. It was true. Spade did seem to always have the upper hand and the perfect getaway. It wasn't beyond the stretch of imagination.

"There's another reason…" Ace looked around, glaring at the brick wall of the building behind them as if it was caught eavesdropping, and then stared the Chief straight in the eye, "I found a note in my desk from Spade. My room can only be accessed by my team, a few other officers during the day, and myself. It would be impossible for just anyone to get access to my room _and_ my desk."

"Why didn't you report this to me?!" The Chief said in a strained hiss.

"I'm the head of the Spade investigation, Chief." Ace paused, "Also," he said more quietly, "I wanted to verify that it was authentic before jumping to any conclusions. But that's not what matters; it's what it _said_."

Ace took a plastic evidence bag out of his inner jacket pocket. Inside was a small, rectangular piece of ripped notebook paper. The Chief looked taken aback by the note, as if Ace had drawn a time-bomb out of his pocket, but took the paper to examine it.

**Detective Ace Farthing,** it said **I am bored with your failed attempts of subduing me  
and I wish to have a little game. ****However, there aren't enough players to have fun.  
Someone **_**big**_** is coming and I am making that person my next target.**

Invite some friends and we'll begin. 

– **Spade**

"What the hell does he mean 'invite some friends'" The Chief mumbled, shaking his head and handing the note back to Ace.

Ace pocketed the tattered paper, "Chief, we need to get more experienced people who have dealt with those as dangerous as Spade. You think we can get anyone from the FBI?"

"Nah. I have a friend who told me they were focused on something in Japan. They wouldn't be interested with a small city's criminal."

"What would they be investigating in Japan?" Ace wondered aloud, gingerly running his fingertips back and forth over his bandaged wound.

"How the hell should I know…" The Chief shrugged, "It's 'need to know.'"

"Well who else would have enough experience with different murderers?"

The Chief paused, looking like he had just remembered something…

"Well… there is this detective…"

In Tokyo, Japan, the phone in the Mouri Detective Agency rang…

* * *

Well, what do you think? Don't worry, there will be more Detective Conan stuff in the next chapter.

Please press the button that says 'Review' and type words.

PS: The costume scene was a little tribute to all the little costumes Conan wears in the pictures before the part of the chapters. Some of them were really funny. X3

Edit: Small bits have been edited. Also, I am now working my second chapter. I apologize for the delay; my computer's been on the fritz.

Edit #2: More editing – just some small stuff. Nothing of real story-changing importance.


	3. Chapter 2

Beachcat: I don't even have an excuse for the lateness of this story. Sure, I could pin it on college prep, but that wouldn't be entirely true. 'Twas procrastination. So to my readers who have been waiting over the summer, I apologize.

On to the disclaimer!

Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan/Case Closed or any of the characters from that series etc. HOWEVER! Spade is _mine_ and I don't plan on giving him away. Mwahahahaha!

*Spade hits me with a milk carton and continues eating his cereal*

*BC points dramatically* Oh no! Spade's a cereal killer!

*Spade throws his spoon at my head*

* * *

Chapter 2

Conan stared out of the large office windows of the Mouri Detective Agency. The warmth of the afternoon sun radiated through the glass panes heating the office to a sleep encouraging temperature. Outside, groups of people – mostly teens and young businessmen – walked about, enjoying the warm weather before heading home. The occasional person or persons walked into the café below the agency, but no one actually came up.

…No clients…

Conan didn't know if it was the pleasant weather, but there hadn't been a single case in a week and a half. No murders, no plots of revenge, no kidnapping, not even one of those "stalk my [insert type of significant other here] and see if [he/she] is cheating on me" cases.

No cases + no clients = no money earned.

Of course, Conan liked the lack of crime and general evil doing and could care less about the money, but he didn't think he could stand his 'ojisan's' griping and groaning much longer. Even though the Mouri's were nowhere near broke, the complaining and irritability of the "Sleeping Kogoro" would convince anyone otherwise.

Conan jumped at a soft, metallic clang behind him.

Speak of the devil… Conan cast a lazy glare over his shoulder. The previously mentioned detective was slumped over his desk and currently working on his third beer. He already drank a lot, but with the lack of business he was drinking more than usual. His liver had to be that of an eighty-year-old. He tossed the empty can over his shoulder and into the wastebasket next to his desk. Clang… Fourth beer.

Conan shook his head. How that man had ever become a detective was a mystery to him. Sure, he had his moments of near coolness, but he always managed to ruin it by doing or saying something stupid.

Just as Conan was about to turn back to look outside, there was the sound of someone struggling with the doorknob. After a momentary struggle, the office door swung open with a jumbled click.

"I'm home!" Ran said as she slipped into some house slippers.

She heaved a sigh as she set four heavy grocery bags on her father's desk and promptly flopped onto the nearby couch.

Conan got up from his spot at the window to greet her when the phone rang. Seeing as Ran was exhausted and her father was …

Conan picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Oh, um, hello. This the office of," pause, "Kogoro Mouri?" It was a man's voice – a man who obviously didn't speak Japanese much.

"Yes this is. Who is calling?" Conan answered in English, somewhat curious as to why a foreign person was calling Mouri Kogoro of all people.

"Oh! You speak English!" The man sounded extremely relieved, "I am Rookwood's Chief of Police Charley Miller. I wish speak with Detective Mouri."

Conan glanced over his shoulder with a somewhat amused smirk. Said detective was being the Sleeping Kogoro again, emphasis on "sleeping".

"Eto, he's not available but I can take a message."

?_?_?_?_?_?

"Rookwood? Never heard of it." Kogoro said again as he inhaled his dinner.

"It's a small city in the U.S." Conan said, sighing. (A/N The Rookwood in my story doesn't really have a country base. I just imagined it would be near some mountains and have a bunch of old brick buildings.) "The police there are having trouble with a ongoing case and they want someone's help. There is a killer, who goes by the name 'Spade,' murdering criminals. Of course, criminals are to be dealt with, but through the justice system, not victimized through murder. The police force has been trying for years to catch this guy and only now have they asked for someone's help outside the city. And…" Conan stopped, realizing he was speaking rather fast and sounded somewhat too intelligent for a 'seven year-old.'

Kogoro raised an eyebrow, but still looked indifferent. "Aren't you too excited over this? Besides, why should I go to such lengths for one case? I couldn't afford it. The airfare alone –"

"They're going to cover that. Three tickets are ready for us." Conan interrupted.

Kogoro stopped eating. "Well… even if that's covered, there are living arrangements that would need to be taken care of."

Conan smiled, and turned up the childish charm, "The nice officer said that he even would take care of _that_ and" cough, "advance half of your pay check before you start the case."

Kogoro's eyebrows raised in interest.

"I think he said that would be –" Conan leaned over and whispered the amount in the private detective's ear.

That was all he needed to hear. Jumping up, he looked at his daughter, "Ran! Pack your bags and call a cab to take us to the airport! We're leaving tonight!" With that he rushed to his room to pack for himself.

"But what about the groceries I just bought?" Ran mumbled, "They're all perishable."

Conan told her what he told her dad.

She sighed, still frustrated with her wasted shopping efforts, but she stood, smiling. "Well, it _is_ about time dad had a case." She paused as she picked up her father's abandoned plate. "I wonder if this is the case Shinichi has been working on."

"_I will be, sooner than you think"_ Shinichi wanted to say, but Conan simply smiled.

………………

Later in the taxi and in the airport, Conan's thoughts began to wander back to the case. The mysterious, criminal-killer Spade that baffled the police in the remote city of Rookwood.

The Chief of Police said he was untraceable. No hairs, no fingerprints, no clues… a ghost. However, Co- _Shinichi_ didn't believe in that sort of thing. There was always a logical explanation.

As Conan began to drift off into sleep on the plane, his mind dwelt upon what the Chief of Police said last - what he _hadn't_ told Ran or her father. All about a note, visitors, and long, black coats.

* * *

Okay! I know. This was a really short chapter; it was a transition! Anyway, with this out of the way I can move on to the real story! Whooo!

Prettypleasewithacherryontop review this! I'd like to have ten reviews if possible. That would be a record for any of my stories.

Edit: I went through and changed some things. Not much. Just a few words sprinkled here and there so it has a better flow.

Press this button and type words! -----------}


	4. Chapter 3

Spade: *wiping blood off a kitchen knife* BeachCat … is all up in pieces at the moment, so _I_ will be doing the intro. … There, intro's done. Disclaimers.

BeachCat does not own Detective Conan/Case Closed etc. If she ever thinks she could own it one day, I shall destroy those pitiful dreams and cast them into a fiery despair from which they can never be recovered….

*stitched smile*

* * *

Chapter 3

A teenage girl sat in a secluded corner of Rookwood's airport café. Once in a while, she looked up from her precious sketchbook to take a sip of her still scalding hot chocolate. Pushing a lock of stray brown hair behind her ear, she looked around for something to draw. The only decorations on the whitewash walls were a map of the world and a picture of some old, probably dead, man. Besides the chairs and occasional table, there were a few scattered trashcans here and there. There were no other decorations; not even a fake plant. The most interesting thing in sight was the dented napkin dispenser on her table. She sighed and, deciding her artist block had defeated her once again, stood to return to her family.

As she left, she past two men waiting near one of the arrival gates.

The first, the one that stuck out the most, was a big, burly man, approximately in his early forties. He had a crop of short, bristly, red hair that looked like it hadn't seen a barber in too long. Though his unshaven stubble would suggest he was a grizzly, unkempt man, he had a bright white smile and squinted, hazel eyes that twinkled merrily. He wore a bright red and yellow Hawaiian flower shirt and tan pants. In his large hands, he held a sign with a couple of foreign symbols that could have been a name.

The other was almost the complete opposite of his large companion. He was young – couldn't have been over twenty-five. He was tall and thin, but not exceedingly so. His sleek, black hair hung loosely about his ears; his bangs dangled down his forehead. He had deep blue eyes that seemed to always be looking through the things around him, not at them. So deep in thought…

"Hey Ace," the big man said, "I thought you said we could dress casually… Why did you come in your suit?"

Ace blinked, glancing at his partner in slight confusion. Then, looking down at his black tux, he smiled, slightly embarrassed, "I had to run here from church. An old friend of my father's past away and they had a funeral for him at St. Mary's."

"Ah." Big Mac looked back towards the gate doors as the plane finished docking.

Ace glanced again at Big Mac, managing to disguise a snicker with a cough. "Uh, so what's with the shirt?"

"Oh this?" Big Mac smiled broadly and pulled affectionately on the bright shirt, "I made up some pork and pineapples in rice for lunch and my daughters and I had a 'luau'."

Both men laughed at that.

Finally, the passengers began filing off of the plane. Most of the crowd had come and gone when Ace spotted whom they were waiting for. The report said there would be three of them, Detective Kogoro Mouri and the two minors accompanying him, his daughter, Ran Mouri and another child of no relation. Somehow, the child's name was lost before it was put in the report.

Big Mac began waving the sign with the Mouri's name on it to catch their attention.

The boy was the first to notice the sign and mentioned it to the teen holding his hand who passed the news to the middle-aged man lagging behind. As the three came forward, Ace watched as the boy's eyes scanned up and down both him and his partner. Gears were turning behind those eyes; sizing up, calculating… That is until their eyes met. The boy quickly looked away suddenly interested in the nearby café. A small smirk fluttered across Ace's face as he noted the boy's actions.

When the group of foreigners came close, Ace stepped forward to shake Detective Mouri's hand.

"I am Detective Ace Farthing," Ace said in fluent Japanese, "and," gesturing towards his partner, "this is Mac Johnson."

"You can call me Big Mac," Big Mac said in English, grinning.

The Japanese detective returned the handshake. "I am Detective Mouri Kogoro. This is my daughter, Ran, and the boy is Edogawa Conan." he said, "They won't interfere with the investigation."

Ace raised an eyebrow. The last comment seemed to be directed more at the young boy than his daughter.

The boy grunted something inaudible, an annoyed look crossing his face.

"Hmm," Ace knelt down, eye to eye with the boy. "You don't seem to be the type to cause trouble, Conan," he said seriously, but at the look on the boy's face his serious façade broke and he let out a good-natured laugh.

The boy's alarmed expression faded and was quickly and easily replaced by a childish grin.

"I'm not trying to be troublesome; I'm learning to be a detective like my ojisan!" Conan stated proudly.

"Yeah, well he certainly already knows his way around," Ran said, grinning at the boy holding her hand, "He's always finding something useful during a case."

"Really," Ace wondered aloud. Then, remembering his manners, he stood and shook Ran's hand.

Glancing again at Conan, he smiled, "Maybe you could use those sharp eyes of those to help us out some…"

Before the boy could think of a reply, Ace turned back to Kogoro, "Your baggage has already been taken care of and my partner and I will drive you to the motel. Feel free to rest and get rid of some jetlag; you have today and tomorrow before we get to work."

With that, Ace turned in the direction of the exit, giving no time for thanks.

O.O.O.O.O.O

Conan settled into the passenger seat of Big Mac's police cruiser, removing his heavy backpack and carefully dropping at his feet. In the backpack was everything he thought might be necessary for this case: his voice changing bow tie, stun gun watch, inflatable soccer ball belt, a couple sheets of tracking stickers, and other various items Agasa-hakase had made. It was a miracle security didn't stop to search his bag.

"Conan-kun!" Conan looked out the window. Ran was waving to him from the back seat of Ace's dark blue sports car, "Be good, okay!"

"Hai, I promise," he said waving back.

Since they got to the airport, Ran had held Conan's hand as if her life depended on it. Why? It was probably because he had a reputation of disappearing in large crowds. Or maybe she just nervous being in a new city with an infamous killer lurking about and felt the need to feel someone else's hand holding hers. Whatever the reason, she had not been thrilled when Conan asked to go alone with Big Mac. It wasn't that she didn't trust Big Mac; she was just worried. Eventually her father got sick of them debating the matter and told Ran it would be fine (not that he cared, he just wanted the kid out of his hair).

Regardless of Ran's feelings, Conan had to seize this perfect opportunity to gather information without her father's near-constant interference.

"Okay then," Big Mac grunted as he flopped into the driver's seat, shaking the cruiser in the process. He turned the key, the engine revved to life, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

After a few minutes of twisting through entries, exits, and merging highway traffic, they reached the city of Rookwood.

Tall, metal and glass skyscrapers towered over the distant east half of the city. Radiating westward – and slightly downhill, Conan noted as he gazed at the stair step-like landscape – the buildings became smaller, plainer, and made more of concrete than metal. Older brick buildings took up much of the rest of the city. The overcast skies darkened everything to varying tones of gray.

Small drops of water pitter-pattered on the windshield as it began to drizzle.

Conan looked up at Big Mac, "So," he said in English, "how did Detective Farthing hurt his leg."

"Hey now," Big Mac shot Conan a broad grin, "It's nice to know I can talk without worrying about a translator." He chuckled lightheartedly for a moment, but the laugh died out as his brows knit together in concern, "Ace's leg… I didn't think it was still bothering him. He was shot."

"By Spade?" Conan asked casually.

Big Mac heaved a sigh, "I don't know if a kid your age should –" There must have been something about the look on Conan's face that made Big Mac change his mind. "Yeah… Spade shot him. You see, we were tipped off that three drug dealers had vanished last month. Under normal circumstances, tips like that would usually be discarded by the higher-ups – they think disappearances like that are a waste of time and government funding." Big Mac paused as he eased his car to a stop at a red light.

"Under normal circumstances?" Conan pressed.

"Spade gives us _hints_," Big Mac said, growling the last word, "Notes, riddles, photographs, all of them signed with a drawing of a spade."

_That sounds familiar_, Conan thought as a certain thief came to mind.

"If any police department receives something like that," Big Mac continued, "they send it straight to us. That time it had been a fuzzy picture of the storehouses at the low side of the city and pictures of the three dealers. Of course, we didn't have to know what happened – or will happen, in some cases – there; when we get something from Spade, we check it out."

"What if it was a trap?" Conan asked.

Big Mac shook his head, "Usually he doesn't set traps for the police; he's just interested in criminals… but that time was different. Ace was shot, we still don't know how but –"

"Wait," Conan interrupted, "Don't know how?"

"Spade wasn't there. We found a tape recorder, but no gun." Big Mac shrugged, "Our CSI team couldn't find it."

"And the three drug dealers?" Conan asked, his 'child' voice discarded and replaced by a slightly deeper, quiet, and intelligent voice.

"Long dead."

The rest of the ride through the streets of Rookwood was spent in silence. Conan gazed out into the now heavily falling rain, reflecting on this new information. He hardly noticed the patrol car roll to a stop.

"Here we are," Big Mac stated. When Conan took no notice, Big Mac tapped him on the shoulder, jolting the boy out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," Conan said, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment, "I wasn't paying attention."

Big Mac just smiled, "Nah, that's fine," then, more to himself than to Conan, "You remind me of him."

Conan blinked, puzzled.

"Ace. You remind me of how Ace was before he joined the force." With that, Big Mac opened his door, grabbing an umbrella as he stepped out into the pouring rain.

Conan, grabbing his backpack, jumped out of the car to follow Big Mac into the motel.

x.x.x.x.x.x

The motel was not what Conan would consider 5-star. The ceiling creaked with the footsteps of those on the floor above. The not-so-white walls were cracked in various places and bits of dry paint littered the maroon-ish carpet like flaky dandruff. On the up side, there were two bedrooms and, unlike the rest of the city, the room did not smell of mold.

Conan made a bed for himself out of one of the cushioned chairs and footrest, knowing full well that Kogoro would take the bed. He set his backpack down behind the chair as a final act of setting into his new environment.

Big Mac was sitting on a wooden chair on the other side of the room. He was attempting to text with little progress; his large fingers often pressed multiple buttons, forcing him to erase whatever he had put in and try again. He noticed Conan's badly suppressed look of amusement and heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Damn buttons are too small." He mumbled to himself. Finally he sent the message and not ten seconds later his phone buzzed with the new reply. He rolled his eyes, but smiled, "Hey, Conan, is it just me or do all kids nowadays have the ability to text faster than they talk?"

"Pretty much." Conan walked over and sat on the edge of the bed facing Big Mac. "That your kid?"

"Mm hmm. Her name's Cathy. She's about fifteen now…" His voice trailed off a bit.

"Your divorced." Conan stated, already knowing the answer.

"Three years now… don't get to see her much with my job…" He stopped, trying to text his daughter back.

Conan nodded, knowing the subject had been dropped.

_Click._

Big Mac and Conan leapt to their feet. Big Mac drew his concealed 9mm Beretta and Conan flipped the targeting top off of his stun-gun watch. Both aimed their weapons at the now open doorway…

… which was occupied by a very surprised Mouri Kogoro. He dropped his bags and raised his hands high above his head.

"Ha!" Ace walked through the doorway, nudging the still trembling detective aside, "What are you so jumpy for?" A good-natured smirk spread across his face nearly ear to ear, "It was just the door."

Big Mac sighed, holstering his weapon. "Sorry about that, Detective. Seems like I've been working too long; getting paranoid."

The PI simply nodded, but it was obvious by the stunned expression on his face and his hand lingering over his heart that it would take a moment longer for him to recover.

Ace shook his head, "You're not the only one, partner." Ace looked down at Conan who had quickly closed the top of the watch while Big Mac was apologizing… not quick enough. "What's that thing you've got there?" Ace was still smiling, but his voice was harder than it had been before, not cold or hateful, simply firmer.

"It's just a watch." Conan said softly in English. He didn't want Kogoro joining in on the conversation. It could become troublesome to bring the watch to his attention and for good reason.

Conan tensed as Ace knelt down and grabbed his small wrist, lifting it – gently – to examine the watch. A moment later, the top flipped up. Aces eyebrows raised slightly, as if he hadn't honestly expected anything to happen.

A knob on the side slid outwards slightly - the trigger. Ace went to press it.

"Don't!" Conan yanked his wrist from Ace's grasp. Too late.

"Hnniggh! Uhhnnnn." Thud.

Ace and Big Mac turned, eyes wide in surprise. They had seen it, for the briefest of moments, a needle shooting out of the child's watch, flying through the air … and hitting the Japanese detective – who had bent down to grab his suitcase – smack dab in the middle of his forehead. Said detective was now slumped over one of his suitcases, fast asleep.

Both conscious detectives turned back to the boy whose expression was a mix of great irritation and extreme discomfort.

Ace looked at that boy, trying and failing to conceal his shock and giddy curiosity, "Uh… Explain."

* * *

BeachCat: Yay! Another chapter's finished! Ace, Big Mac, and the Detective Conan crew meet! But more importantly, I'm back in one piece again!

(Spade lurks dangerously in the shadowed corners of my mind.)

BC: Sorry it took so long to get this written. It's really hard to type when bits and pieces of you are all scattered across the globe (cough-it was writer's block-cough). Still can't find my right knee cap… Anywho! I leave you with this disturbing image. Imagine Gin, the extremely scary, would kill you as soon as look at you Gin. … Now imagine _him _laughing like Mouri Kogoro, tongue sticking out and all. Gives you shivers, don't it?

Gin snipes me dead. :3

Edit: Same as the previous chapters. Small edits here and there.

Please Review my wonderful readers. ;D


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